To Catch A Thief
by alexabeamer
Summary: Riley is missing, and Ian's got nothing to do with it. As Ben and Abigail frantically search for their friend, they discover how little they know about Riley Poole, and how far they are willing to go to get him back. Eventual slash - Ben/Riley
1. Chapter 1: The Beginning

Disclaimer: _National Treasure_ is not mine. If it were, Ben and Riley would have gotten together in the first film.

Note: this chapter is in Abigail's POV.

* * *

When Ben Gates had turned to her and said, "Let me ask you this. Have you ever told someone _not_ related to you that you loved them?" Abigail had answered truthfully.

"Yes."

"More than one someone?" Again, she had told him the truth, wondering where he was going with this strange conversation held in the dressing room of Urban Outfitters.

"Yes."

"Well, my father would say you have been too cavalier in your personal life." At the time, she had never thought anything of it. But, as the months after finding the treasure passed and their relationship fell apart, she thought back on those words and wondered if they had another meaning. Ben could have had any woman, or man, he fancied, but instead, after three months after their 'official' separation, he was still single.

Abigail found it easy to believe that Ben would turn down the offers of many women, but tried not to spend too much time wondering to whom he was directing his attentions. When they had lived together for that short, mostly unhappy, time, calls had come daily, young girls screaming proposals of marriage or child-bearing. Abigail definitely understood the allure of dating Ben. He was attractive, as worldly as anyone who is obsessed with American history can be, and he had a way of speaking that made one think of Sherlock Holmes or someone equally eloquent and confusing.

_And_, to top it all off, Ben had a certain confidence about him, a 'certainty' as she had once called it, when she had half-convinced herself she didn't hate Ben Gates for stealing the Declaration of Independence, which caused men and women left, right, and center to notice him whenever he entered a room. Unless, of course, he was trying to be invisible, which, ten out of ten times, he was, especially if stalkers were involved; when he wanted to be, Ben was as about as noticeable as Riley in a crowd of sci-fi enthusiasts.

Which brought her back to her original train of thought: who was Riley Poole?

Abigail knew him as the geeky worshipper of Ben who could hack into the London police station's database in 2.5 seconds while in the back of a fast-moving vehicle, the one who had turned Ben into an invisible man when he was stealing the Declaration of Independence, the 5'8", 26 year old computer nerd who couldn't seem to grow up, sounding and acting like a child most of the time.

Make that the _**missing**_ geeky worshipper of Ben who could hack into the London police station's database in 2.5 seconds while in the back of a fast-moving vehicle, the one who had turned Ben into an invisible man when he was stealing the Declaration of Independence, the 5'8", 26 year old computer nerd who couldn't seem to grow up, sounding and acting like a child most of the time.

Let's back up, shall we?

OK...here goes...

--

Abigail Chase had been perfectly happy, not even having a slightly-guilty, nagging feeling at the back of her mind for the past few months ever since Ben and she had broken up and he had officially moved out, and was sleeping in one lovely Saturday morning, when the oh-so-cheerful ringtone of her cell phone woke her up.

_This better be important, or I will – _murder –_ whoever is on the other side of the line_, she thought. When she had picked up the annoying, ringing device, the first thing she had heard was Ben frantically asking, "Have you seen Riley?"

Not, "Sorry for waking you at such an ungodly hour of the morning," not even a, "Abigail, this is Ben. Sorry, but it's important." Yes, she knew both had the word 'sorry' in them, but she was tired, for God's sake! She wanted an apology and an explanation.

"No." She hung up. A moment later, her phone rang again. She flipped it open once more, saw Ben's name on the caller ID, and decided to answer, so she could yell at him. She opened her mouth to curse him to the ends of the world and back, when he spoke in a very serious, very hollow voice.

"I know it's early, but I…I need help, Abigail." Ben had gone from panicked to flat, and the change scared her a little. Hearing how devoid of life he sounded, how emotionless he was, Abigail didn't have the heart to scream at him.

"OK, Ben, what's going on?" She asked calmly, sitting up. She knew Riley had his own apartment, a small, one-bedroom place not too far from where Ben and she had lived until their relationship had died. Ben had gone to live at Riley's for a while, most of his stuff still packed into a U-Haul trailer.

Ben explained, his voice still monotone and flat.

"Riley's gone. He left a message on my phone an hour ago."

"What did he say?" She asked. Ben didn't answer. "What did Riley say, Ben?!" She asked, more urgently this time. She was almost afraid to listen, but she had to know.

"He said that he…he hated me. He said he was leaving. Abigail, I…I don't know what to do."

"Ben, this doesn't make any sense. Riley would never say that." She practically heard the gears start turning in Ben's mind. She got out of bed and began grabbing clean clothes. She knew that Ben wasn't going to stop looking for Riley, and she was not about to let a dear friend of hers push himself to exhaustion looking for the young geek as she knew he would if left alone. Ben and she may have not parted on the best of terms, but she still counted him as one of her closest friends; you don't go through near-death experiences without coming out of them grateful to still be breathing, as well as somehow knowing the people you had gone through those terrifying experiences with a lot better that anyone else. Besides, Riley was her friend, too, and she was getting worried now.

"Unless he had a good reason to, or…" It was a good minute before Ben spoke again. "Abigail, meet me at Riley's apartment. Maybe he left us something."

"Wait, Ben, what do you mean, 'left us something'? Like what, a clue? This isn't one of your treasure hunts, Ben." But even as she spoke, Abigail was grabbing her car keys and walking out the door.

"I know." She heard Ben take a deep, shaky breath. "But I also know Riley."

--

The half-hour drive to Riley's was done in ten minutes, and all Abigail could think was, _I hope I don't get pulled over for speeding_. Funny how the mind focuses on the irrelevant details when there was a crisis going on. She nearly killed herself trying to get out of her car as quickly as possible, forgetting how to unbuckle her seatbelt, unlock the car, and take out the keys at the same time. When she had finally freed herself, she found the door wide open, barely still on its hinges. _Wow. When Ben's in a hurry, I guess he doesn't even stop to unlock doors. He just forces them open._ She thought, looking at the large muddy footprint by the doorknob. Ben was upstairs in Riley's room, looking at something on the desk in the corner.

Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, apart from the complete lack of technology. Usually, the room was stuffed with things that beeped and blinked. It was oddly eerie without all the metal inside, and Abigail found herself missing the maze of wires she usually tripped over whenever she went into Riley's room, searching for something he could wear to the next party or lecture they had to attend.

She looked back at Ben, worried. He had always been on the quiet side, but she had never seen him so _still_. It was like he was frozen in place. Ben was so motionless the paper in his hands didn't even quiver. Wait…paper?

"Is that…?" She trailed off, not knowing what she was going to say. But Ben nodded. She didn't know how Ben would react if she tried to take their only clue to Riley's whereabouts from him, so she didn't even reach for it; she just leaned forwards until she could see it clearly.

It read,

"_Ben _

_I hate you; you have no right to call me worthless, so no more brushing me aside like I do not matter, no more ignoring me whenever I open my mouth. _

_You were always too busy with Abi, having a perfect life and a perfect marriage, too busy to bother with a 'small' thing like __your best friend__. I know we always said we were friends, even after you __forced__ me to leave my job. I hated you for a while after that, especially when Shaw pointed a gun at me at Charlotte's. But then we found the treasure, and I thought, __hell__, why not forgive the guy for letting his buddies pick on me? Then your family was accused of assassinating President Kennedy, so you came rushing back to me, __begging for help__. We found the second treasure, and again, I was left in the dust. I did not even get my car back, thanks to your little adventure kidnapping the president. _

_But I have __made__ up my mind I am leaving for good I told you I would eventually after you left me outside eight weeks ago Do __not__ try to find me I have given away __everything__ I am not taking with me I have given away Robin, the white tomcat I told you about three or five weeks ago_

_I never want to see you again, so do not try to find me. Also, do not dare call Agent Sonny or whatever his name is. _

_Riley_"

* * *

Yes, I know it's short, but I just wanted to see if anyone was interested. No, it's not going to be another Ian kidnaps Riley to make Ben tell him where the next redefining treasure is. In fact, treasure (as in gold and jewels and other shiny stuff) isn't a part of this fic at all.

Anyway, review and let me know what you think and if you want me to continue.


	2. Chapter 2: Searching for Clues

Disclaimer: see chapter 1.

Note: Ok, lots of dialogue here, but I tried to break it up a little.

The words were lightly written in pencil, making them hard to read. Only a few letters were dark enough to read without squinting.

"Is that all he wrote?" She was relieved to see Ben nod; she'd been afraid he wouldn't respond and just continue to read and reread the note again and again.

"Ben, are you sure _Riley_ wrote this, not someone else?" She asked. Riley had horrible handwriting, if his scratchings with a pen could indeed be called handwriting. He usually said that evil midgets kept trying to take control of his hands whenever he wrote anything. Abigail had originally worried that the young man had actually believed this; when she later found out that Riley had at least seventy different excuses for his bad handwriting, she had simply laughed, glad her worries were unfounded.

"He wrote it." Ben said.

"But…?" She said in a voice that told him she knew he was keeping something from her. Ben glanced over at her for the first time.

"You know me too well." He flashed her a half-grin, usually found on Riley, not Ben; just another reminder of the young techie's absence. "But Riley was trying to tell us something in this. I've seen him write before and he _always_ uses contractions. Here, he doesn't use any." Ben pointed to one part of the note, not touching the paper, as if he was scared it would dissolve between his fingers.

"Riley volunteered to quit his job after I told him about the treasure, so why is the word 'forced' underlined? And," He murmured, his fingers ghosting over every word that was underlined, still not actually touching the paper itself, hovering just above them. "what do these words mean? Why are they underlined? Let's see…'your best friend.' Easy: Riley. 'Forced': he was forced to go, he was kidnapped."

Ben was muttering to himself now, his voice very low and deep; he was barely taking breaths between his words, he was speaking so quickly. Abigail knew he was now in full-fledged 'treasure protector mode', as she privately called it; it had ultimately been the nail in the coffin of their relationship. She hadn't been able to cope with barely seeing her boyfriend, and during the handful of times alone with him, he hadn't been able to talk about anything more than his work. This all-consuming, 'treasure protector mode' was how Ben got whenever something, usually treasure, was on his mind and he was doing everything in his power to look at it from every angle, examining absolutely _every_thing in search of a clue. It was best not to disturb him when he was like this, mostly because he didn't hear a word anyone said to him unless it pertained to the treasure or whatever was on his mind. He would say things aloud that wouldn't make any sense, making him appear crazy or at the very least, deranged. Sometimes he didn't even know 

what they meant until something clicked in his head. All she could do was sit back and let him talk himself through whatever he thought had happened to Riley.

"'Hell:' is that what Riley thought our friendship was, or is it where he thinks his kidnappers are from? Or does it have another meaning…?" Ben was silent for a moment, thinking hard. With a shake of his head, something Abigail had come to see meant he couldn't figure it out at the moment and would come back to it later, he turned his thoughts back to the other underlined words. "'Begging for help:' if Riley was kidnapped, then this letter would be asking me to help him. Or is that what his kidnappers did? Did they ask him to help them, did he agree? 'Made:' same as 'forced', maybe, or maybe he built something." Ben shook his head again, resolving to come back to it when he could think at a less furious pace. Right now, his thoughts were going almost too fast for his mouth to handle, but he didn't care. Riley was not one to go down without a fight, unless of course, that fight could be avoided at all costs. Or there was a gun pointed at his head. If Riley had indeed been kidnapped, which Ben had a horrible feeling he had been, then the latter was probably what had happened. "'not:' hm…what does he mean? What did they not let him do? Call for help? They must have let you write this, so that can't be it. 'Everything:' maybe referring to how the kidnappers took everything. But what does the 'not' mean? Nothing? Maybe it negates everything he's written so far, no, too obvious. Is it meant to be put with 'everything', because they're the only underlined words in the line. So what does he mean, 'not everything?' Did he leave something behind? This note - no, they'd catch it, something else then. But what? What was so important that Riley would risk putting it on paper, where anyone could read it?"

Ben shifted his weight from foot to foot, still muttering away to himself like a crazy person. Abigail was starting to feel uncomfortable, with nothing to do but sit on Riley's unmade bed and wonder when Ben was going to come out of 'treasure protector mode' and start making sense. Ben continued on like this for a few more moments before stopping, rereading the entire note, and he began pointing out all the little flaws that only Ben himself or someone who knew Riley well would spot. Abigail sighed, knowing he was still in his own world, a world she could not see.

"Abigail and I, we never married." Ben said, as if she wasn't in the same room. She sniffed, slightly offended, but knew he couldn't hear her. "He knows we split up before Wilkinson came forward with the diary page, just like he knows my family was accused of helping assassinate President _Lincoln_, not Kennedy. Riley's not short, so why call himself 'small?' Maybe the thing the kidnappers let him leave behind is small…" Ben cast a worried eye around the room, not really seeing what he was looking at. "I told him about the treasure and he wanted to come with me, there was no forcing involved, but he's underlined it, so it doesn't go with the rest of the sentence, does it?" Abigail was silent the entire time, knowing from past experience that Ben needed silence and room to pace if she wanted to get any answers from him. But this time, Ben wasn't moving; he was as still as when she had first come into Riley's room, only his mouth moving. She also knew he wasn't going to make sense for a while longer; he was 

just talking to hear himself talk, to help him straighten out what he was thinking. "It wasn't Shaw who…" If she'd thought it possible, Abigail would have said that Ben had stilled even further, until she wasn't sure if he was breathing or not.

"When is Ian being released from jail?" Abigail was startled. Ben was so intensely serious she was almost afraid of him for a moment; he sounded like he wanted to murder Ian. She realized it made sense for Ian to try to get revenge upon Ben by taking Riley. Abigail and Ben still saw each other often, usually whenever Ben came round to see if he could get his Boston Tea tables back, but they definitely weren't as close as they used to be; while they had once been almost-lovers, now they were more like friends who were still wary of each other. Riley, on the other hand, spent more time with Ben than her nowadays. Ben still went over the younger man's home fairly frequently, though he had moved into his own place a while ago. After all the times Ian had pointed his gun at Riley, it was reasonable to assume that Ian would go after his regular target.

"Not for a while, I think. They had some pretty serious charges against him, considering how many times Ian nearly shot Riley." Even in the soft light of dawn, she could see Ben pale, and she knew it had been the wrong thing to say. He took a deep breath.

"See if you can contact Agent Sadusky."He said flatly. She opened her mouth to protest. "I don't _care_ if Riley said not to. If Ian _is_ out there and he's got Riley, then Riley's going to need all the help he can get." Ben's voice was sharp and he practically shouted the last few words. Abigail didn't even want to suggest that Ian could still be behind bars and have no part in Riley's disappearance. She left to call the FBI agent, and heard Ben go back to his babble of thoughts.

--

"Why write as if the Charlotte is a girl? And he got his car back. He drove it over the day he got it, even though it was dented. Where is it? I think he took it to the shop last week after he backed into another car. That's why his kidnappers didn't see it and know that what he was writing was a lie. Anyone who knows Riley knows he's allergic to animals, so why does he say I told him about a fictional cat? Is there any significance in the name 'Robin'? I've heard Riley talk about animals, and he calls them 'its' because he can't go near them, so why specifically say, 'tomcat'? Why is he so specific with the numbers? Eight weeks ago…" Ben thought back to eight weeks ago; being passionate about history had its perks, one of which was having the memory of an elephant, which had come in really handy when the president had given him the 

numbers for the President's Book. Eight weeks ago…that had been the last party they had attended, over at the Smithsonian. Riley had been over an hour late, and claimed he had been busy blowing up aliens on his computer, which was strange, because Riley didn't typically play computer games; if he got bored, he'd hack. "He knows Agent Sadusky's name, so why call him 'Sonny'?"

"Perhaps he's trying to get back at me for always calling him 'son.'" Ben turned, unconsciously covering Riley's note protectively. Agent Sadusky was there, smiling slightly despite the seriousness of the situation, leaning against the doorframe.

"What's this I hear about our young hacker being missing? Miss Chase called me and practically begged me to come over as fast as I could."

"Riley was kidnapped." Ben said firmly. Agent Sadusky had to help him. If he couldn't…Ben didn't want to think about it.

"Every computer in his house is gone and you're holding a note." Ben nodded. "Forgive me if I don't sound too concerned, but Riley didn't exactly play a _major_ part in the finding of the treasures, did he? So it's unlikely he was "kidnapped," Oh God, he even made air quotes. "for his money." Ben was inwardly fuming. The FBI wasn't taking this seriously! Riley could be in real danger, or worse…Ben didn't allow himself to think about that even for a second. Riley had to be alive! He _had_ to be! Agent Sadusky must have seen his face, because he help up his hands in the universal signal of surrender. "Understand, Ben, it's not unusual for 'new celebrities' to get…_overwhelmed_ by their newfound fame and fortune. Some decide they want to get out of the spotlight for a while. Is there any place Riley really wanted to visit?"

Ben glared at the FBI agent. If looks could kill, Sadusky would have been a little smoking black smudge on the floor. He didn't _know_ Riley like Ben knew him, so what right did he have to say what Riley was doing? While Ben didn't know a lot about Riley's past because the younger man didn't talk too much about himself, despite how often he opened his mouth, from the three years Ben had known him, Riley didn't like being the center of attention too much, but he would never run away from it, not without telling Ben first.

"Now, why do you think Riley has been kidnapped again?" Sadusky said.

"He wrote a note." Yes, Ben realized he sounded crazy. But he had spent years being called that; he had skin thick enough to take any insult that came his way. Sadusky nodded sagely, though Ben was sure he didn't fully believe him.

"And you think it's a ransom note?"

"No, it's just a note."

"That someone else wrote it posing as Riley?" Ben grit his teeth. He couldn't even begin to describe how much he hated Sadusky right now. But if he wanted to find Riley, he needed the FBI's resources.

"No, Riley wrote it."

"Oh?" Ben _really_ hated everything about Sadusky right now, especially his patronizing tone.

"Yes." Abigail could see where this was heading. If Sadusky didn't say he was going to help Ben right now, Ben was going to murder him where he stood. She got between the two men, who had slowly been inching towards each other.

"Agent Sadusky," Ben said, his words sharp and short. "could you find anyone named Robin in Riley's files." It wasn't a question. The FBI agent nodded, and left, still smirking in that annoying way of his.

"Ben, Riley may just have wanted to be alone for a while. Couldn't you at least think about where he could have wanted to go?" Ben shook his head. She turned and started towards the door.

"He called you 'Abi'." Abigail stopped. No one called her Abi, not even her own mother. Abigail disliked the nickname 'Abi' because it made her sound like she was a nun, working at Westminster _Abbey_ or something like that. She turned around to fact Ben and went to stand next to him, looking for where her name had come up.

"So you really think Riley wrote this? It seems too neat to be him." She said softly.

"Riley may be sloppy when he writes, but he uses proper punctuation. See how he doesn't use periods in the second-to-last paragraph?"

"Why is he so careful?" She asked, curious. Riley didn't seem like the type to use grammar and punctuation.

"He knows that one mistake can ruin a programming code, so I guess the habit of putting in commas and periods just sort of trickled over into all his writing." Abigail nodded again; that made sense. The only time Riley wasn't his usual messy, unfocused self was when it came to his computer.

"So, he _is_ trying to tell us something." Ben hesitantly put down the paper, as though it would disappear when he wasn't touching it. He crouched down and opened the backpack Abigail hadn't noticed before. Apparently, Ben hadn't heard her when she had said this _wasn't_ a treasure hunt. But if it helped find Riley, she didn't care if Ben carried it around for the rest of his life. Ben got out a pen and notebook, and copied Riley's note, word for word. She saw him 

carefully tuck the original note in his shirt pocket, and smiled. He was really worried, keeping the only remaining thing left of Riley close to him.

"Yes. He knew we would find this, that we would probably think he'd done what Sadusky said he did unless he gave us reason to think otherwise. He had to have known his kidnappers."

Abigail stared at him, mouth hanging open in a most unladylike way. How could he have surmised _that_ from reading what Riley had written? Ben went on, slipping into historian mode. Ben loved explaining things to people. Abigail thought he would have made an excellent history teacher if he found a school willing to let him teach conspiracy theories.

"Think about it; Riley must have known his kidnappers," He continued on, ignoring her quiet protests that they didn't know Riley had been kidnapped, not for sure, anyway. "if he was able to convince them to let him write a note. Anyone who knows Riley knows that you can't trust a whole lot of what comes out of his mouth."

She nodded, finally understanding what he was getting at. Whenever Riley wanted to be completely serious, he would write down whatever he wanted to say. You couldn't take Riley at his word like you could Ben, but if Riley put it on paper, you could be sure he meant it.

"If his kidnappers let him write a note, then they must know Riley pretty well. But Riley's too smart to just go along with being kidnapped without leaving us something to help find him." Ben sounded so miserable, like he was trying to convince himself Riley _hadn't_ left because he hated Ben, that Abigail couldn't do anything more than put a comforting hand on his arm.

"Ben," She tried again to make him see reason. She admitted that Riley writing Abi was a pretty big thing, but she was unwilling to say Riley had been kidnapped, because people who had been kidnapped sometimes didn't come back. "We still don't know that Riley's _actually_ been kidnapped. He could have just had a few drinks too many. I know people who get really depressed when they're drunk, so maybe Riley-." Ben yanked himself free of her hand, and turned to face her. She could practically feel waves of fury rolling off him. His face was expressing so many emotions: despair, anger, but most of all, fear. They stood there for a few moments, not speaking, just staring at each other, until Abigail caved into Ben's glare, and looked down at her shoes. Ben turned back to his copy of the note.

"Riley doesn't drink. He gets hangovers like you wouldn't believe." The edges of Ben's lips quirked in a small smile. "He once got a hangover from having a few sips of beer when he first met me and Ian."

"So now what do we do?" Abigail asked, trying to get back on Ben's good side.

"We see if Riley left anything behind." They got to work searching Riley's house, trying to find anything that he could have possibly hidden or tucked away in a safe place.


	3. Chapter 3: Memories

"Where are you, Riley?" Ben murmured to himself that night. Abigail and he hadn't found anything at Riley's after searching all day, much to their chagrin. He held the original note in front of his face and examined it carefully, taking in every little detail.

Ben usually had to tell Riley to stop pressing down so hard because he left deep impressions in the paper underneath whatever he was writing, and had been careful whenever he let Riley use any of his pens; he had learned his lesson after the 'Inkspot Incident'. Riley had somehow covered an entire sheet of paper with ink, the three pages beneath the sheet he had been writing on splotched with ink as well, just from trying to write down some calculations on where the _Charlotte_ had drifted to over the years.

But for some reason, Riley's writing was light and hard to read, as though it hurt too much to press down very hard, fueling Ben's belief that Ian had taken Riley. Even when they had first met the scrawny little guy, Ian had taken perverse pleasure in finding ways to make Riley scared or nervous. Ben thought back to when he had first met Riley just three years ago.

Ian had set up a huge database for all the historical references they could possibly need. It had been an expensive two-month long project, so it was understandable that he was fairly upset when, overnight, it vanished. Ian had hired some computer expert 'acquaintance' of his to trace the virus that had gobbled up the information. And that was how Ben and Riley had met: Ian had sent Ben in to see if the virus creator was interested in joining their treasure hunt, and Ben had gone, knowing that Ian was still angry about losing all that information. He hadn't been too certain about asking the virus creator, a perfect stranger, to join their little treasure hunting team, but he had trusted Ian's decision. Ian was a smart man, after all, even when he was still raging about the lost information.

In a brief moment of calmness, Ian had explained that recruiting the virus creator was a very good idea, because if someone was smart enough to create such a sophisticated virus that it had wiggled past all Ian's anti-virus defenses, then that person was probably smart enough to help them find the treasure.

Ben had been expecting to meet a middle-aged man with a potbelly, a salt-and-pepper beard, and too much time on his hands. For some reason, that was what he pictured when he thought, "tech support at the Smithsonian."

Then he met Riley Poole. How well Ben remembered that day.

* * *

It had been a gorgeous morning, with not a cloud in the brilliant blue sky; now that it was early afternoon, however, it was bordering on almost hot, and he was glad to step into the air-conditioned main hall of the Smithsonian Museum. He took a deep breath, then walked up to the information desk, where a blonde woman with too much makeup on beamed at him with too-white teeth, her surgically wrinkle-less face unnaturally shiny.

"I'm looking for a Mr. Riley Poole. Do you know where I can find him?" After a few moments of going through the computer, she shook her head.

"I'm afraid I can't help you, sir."

"He works with computers." Ben supplied, trying to be helpful. The blonde suddenly grinned, and laughed. Ben was instantly reminded of the popular kids who always used to laugh at him for having his nose stuck in a history book. He smiled forcefully, scolding himself for flinching. He wasn't in high school anymore, so there was no reason to react like he was still a teenager.

"Oh, you mean _him_, the nerdy one, right?" Ben shrugged. He had no idea what Riley Poole looked like. But it didn't seem to matter to the woman, whose nametag read 'Sue.'

"You want to go to the elevator and press 'B.' That'll take you to the basement. Ask someone there, and you'll find him." Ben nodded and thanked her for her help, then did as she had instructed.

The basement was not a place Ben liked, despite all the caves he had gone into while diving. At least in the caves he had wanted to be there, and he could leave anytime he wanted to. The thought of people working down here creeped him out a little. And he had been in caves no one else had set foot in for thousands of years, _and_ swum with sharks all around him.

The basement was a maze of grey cubicles, the florescent lighting making the entire place seem bleak, somehow. There were no windows in sight, and it felt very cramped; Ben was glad he wasn't claustrophobic, or he would have just turned around right then and there. A general hum in the air spoke of many people being very busy, so Ben peered into a nearby cubicle cautiously.

A balding, rather heavy-set, man sat with his back to Ben, typing lethargically on his computer with pudgy fingers. Dark patches of sweat made his white shirt seem grey, and Ben couldn't help but notice the belt fastened firmly around the man's ample girth. Hey, he had been searching for clues to a supposedly mythical treasure most his life, so he was more than trained to notice every detail about his surroundings and the people around him.

"Excuse me, I'm looking for a Mr. Riley Poole. Do you know where I can find him?" Ben asked, repeating the question he had asked the woman upstairs. The man slowly turned around. Before Ben could say a word, the man sneezed loudly.

"Bless you." Ben muttered. At this rate, he would never find Riley Poole.

"Thanks. What did you want again?" The man said. His voice was deep and somehow solid, just like the rest of him was.

"Riley Poole. Do you know where he is?"

"Riley Poole? Never heard of him." The man made as if to turn around, his chair groaning at the movement. Obviously, he didn't get away from the computer very often, though pictures of a smiling brunette woman and a blonde-haired toddler tacked to the cubicle's fuzzy walls with colored pins said otherwise.

"He's good with computers." Ben said, remembering how the woman upstairs had reacted. Maybe he would just start asking for 'the nerd who was good with computers' instead of for Riley Poole. Strange how no one seemed to know who the mysterious virus-creator was, or that he even existed.

"Oh, _him_." _Yeah_, thought Ben, _I'm definitely going to have to start asking for the nerd who's good with computers._ "Not sure where he is. I think down he's that way." The man pointed to Ben's left. "Just keep going for a while. He should be around there."

"Thank you." Ben left the bald man to his work, feeling frustrated. How could anyone work in a place like this? He wondered. With a sigh, he walked down the narrow hallway between the rows of cubicles. Men and women didn't even both glancing at him as he passed by.

After a few minutes of walking, Ben had reached the other side of the basement. He was starting to wonder if Ian's friend had been right about Riley Poole. He decided to ask one more person before giving up for the day. He poked his head into the cubicle on his left.

"I'm looking for Riley Poole. Do you know where he is?" Ben refrained from asking for 'the nerd,' just in case he was talking to someone Riley Poole knew. The person in the chair didn't seem to hear him, focused on the computer screen in front of them, long, thin fingers fairly flying over the keys. Ben saw the iPod on the person's off-white desk, and reached forward to tap them on the shoulder. The person jumped and turned around quickly in a manner that suggested he didn't get too many visitors.

Ben was, needless to say, somewhat surprised to find himself facing a man much younger than anyone else he had seen working in the basement. The man pulled out his earbuds and looked expectantly at Ben.

He was scrawny, thin as though he hadn't seen a good meal in a few weeks, Ben saw at once; his clothes hung awkwardly on his skinny frame, as though they were better suited to someone with more meat on their bones. He had brown hair, cut short, and the shadow of a goatee on his chin. He wore a black t-shirt with some swoopy writing in white on the chest; Ben didn't know what language it was in, but it looked like a cross between Arabic and some elaborate cursive. Dark jeans, faded and patched rather badly at the knees, where Ben assumed they had torn, were caked with mud at the hems, and were so threadbare Ben would have guessed they were the kid's only pair of jeans. His black and white Converses were battered and, if Ben wasn't mistaken, held together with bits of silvery duct tape.

"Look, if you're Jeanette's husband, I'm sorry, but-."

"What?" Ben said, confused. This made the young man cease talking, and he looked puzzled, like he couldn't figure out why Ben had stopped him.

"You _are_ Jeanette's husband, right? Coming to beat me up because I couldn't fix her computer?" The kid said hesitantly before flashing a grin Ben could immediately tell was fake.

"Who's Jeanette?" Ben asked. The young man smiled sheepishly, and scratched behind an ear in a self-conscious way.

"OK, let's start over." He said, looking down at his shoes, embarrassed. "What do you want?" He looked up again, smiling falsely.

"I'm looking for Riley Poole. Do you know where I can find him?" Ben said again, being polite just in case. Hey, he had gotten someone to talk to him for more than a minute, right? It couldn't hurt to be nice.

"Um, yeah." Ben felt like grinning, but he didn't, afraid it would come off as maniacal. But, _finally_, someone who knew where Riley Poole was.

"Where is he?" He asked quickly.

"You're looking at him."


	4. Chapter 4: The Windowless Cubicle

Ben blinked, not sure if he had understood. 'Riley' smiled self-effacingly. "Yeah, I know, I know. You were expecting someone-."

"Older." Ben finished. This made Riley snort, seemingly amused.

"Well _that_'s new. Most people say 'smaller'." Riley gave a crooked half-grin, blue eyes crinkling at the edges behind his square, black-rimmed glasses. Ben didn't know what to say for a moment.

"So, what do you want? If it's your computer-." Riley started.

"No, it's not that." Ben said hurriedly. "I was just wondering if you were the one who created a virus."

"Lots of other people can do that, why not go look for them? I'm just tech support at some museum." _The kid really doesn't have a lot of self-confidence, does he?_ Ben asked himself, rhetorically. Everything about Riley screamed 'awkward', and Ben remembered how the woman upstairs had laughed when she found out who he was looking for and the man who hadn't even know Riley had a name. _From the way people acted when I asked about him, he must get that a lot._

"Because 'lots of other people' don't create viruses that clean out entire databases overnight." Ben said. Riley flushed, and he looked down at his Converses in a way that made Ben think of a puppy awaiting punishment for getting caught digging holes in the backyard. Ben saw Riley grinning shyly to himself, and had no doubt that even his mother, of all people, would have gone _awww, _and resisted the urge to do so himself. It was that shy look that did it for Ben. Even if Riley couldn't do what Ian and Ben wanted him to do, Ben wasn't going to leave him in this basement beneath the Smithsonian.

"You know about that?" Riley asked as off-handedly as he could. Ben instantly thought of a puppy desperately wanting attention but too wary of people to go near them. Why Riley kept reminding him of a puppy, Ben wasn't sure. Maybe it was because Riley was acting so surprised someone was noticing him, or maybe it was because Riley reminded Ben of when he himself had been younger.

"Yeah, I do. You erased a friend of mine's hard work." Riley looked up, eyes wide and…frightened?

"No, no, no, _**no**_, it's not erased, it's just stored. Give me a few minutes and I can restore all the data." Riley made as if to turn back to his laptop, but Ben put a hand on his shoulder, effectively stopping him. God, Riley was skinny; he could feel _bones_ beneath his hand.

"While my friend would appreciate that, I was thinking more along the lines of a job offer." Riley looked at him blankly. How long had the kid been out of college? Ben wondered.

"Have you ever heard of the FreeMasons?" Ben could have sworn he'd just said 'Christmas' from the way Riley's eyes lit up. "I take it you've heard of them?" Ben asked, feeling himself grinning. Not only was Riley a computer genius, but he had heard of the Templar Knights. Now to find out if he was willing to leave his job to hunt for treasure everyone said didn't exist.

"Yeah. They're supposed to be the building blocks of our nation, and to have hidden clues to…" Riley quickly looked down at his shoes again, looking uncomfortable. Ben grinned.

"To what?" He asked. Riley mumbled something unintelligible. "What was that?" Ben said lightly, still grinning.

"To some sort of treasure." He finally made out - Riley was still mumbling.

"How did you know about that? It's not like they teach that in college, right?" Ben said in a low voice.

"Who did you say you were?" Ben grinned.

"I didn't say." He held out his hand. "Ben Gates."

"Hey! You're that guy who says he…" Riley stopped talking.

"Who says what?" Ben prodded gently. He knew if he showed one sign of laughing at Riley, the kid would clam up and probably never mention the treasure again, which was the exact opposite of what Ben wanted.

"Says he's got some clue to finding the treasure." Riley said, finally.

"And what if I do?" Riley looked up very quickly, excitement making him practically glow. He then looked back down at his feet, as if ashamed for getting worked up over fictional treasure. Ben had never seen someone go from nervous to ecstatic to wary in under three seconds. Riley seemed to want to believe in the treasure so much, but was equally afraid of being ridiculed for it.

"Do you really, 'cause that would be so cool! What-." Riley bit his lip, and was silent. "You said you had a job offer?" Ben couldn't help but smile; the kid was interested. So far so good. A little bit longer, and the kid was his.

"Yes. You see, a friend and I are trying to figure out what the clue means."

"What's the clue?" Riley was looking right at Ben now, no longer afraid to show his fascination and excitement.

"'_The secret lies with Charlotte.'_" Ben recited from memory. If he could just get Riley to join Ian and himself, they would have a lot easier time with research. Riley looked down at his hands and played absentmindedly with a belt-loop of his jeans.

"It's a ship." He said suddenly. Ben looked at him.

"What?"

"The _Charlotte_. It's a ship."

"What else do you know?" Ben asked, feeling excitement well within his chest. This could be his big break in finding the treasure!

"She sunk a while ago. If you get enough information, you can get anyone to make a program to track where she is now." Ben nodded and turned to go. A few moments later, he went back to the windowless cubicle, his grin fading a little.

"Aren't you coming, Riley?" Riley stared at him, confused.

"You have your information. Why do you need me?" Did Riley really think Ben was just going to _abandon_ him after he got the much-needed information?

"Because _someone _needs to get working on the program after you tell your boss you're leaving." A horrible thought came to Ben. "Unless…you don't want to come?"

"No, no, I do! I just-." Riley didn't say anything more. He leapt to his feet, scrambling to grab everything he needed. Within seconds, he was ready to go. He followed Ben to the elevator and outside the museum.

"Don't you need to tell your boss you quit?" Ben asked. Riley shrugged.

"He doesn't know who I am." He said, as if that explained everything. Ben didn't understand how that made sense, but it obviously did for Riley. He remembered, yet again, how people had reacted when he had mentioned Riley, and figured the kid was used to being ignored. Well, if he created the program he was certain 'anyone' could make, Ben was sure Riley would never be ignored again.

* * *

OK, people. I've updated four chapters in under two hours, simply because I had all this already written, so it was just a matter of breaking it up into chapters and uploading it. From now on, it's all going to be written out as I think it up, so updates will probably be slower.

Anyway, please read and review! Reviews are what keep me going! If you want to see Riley, review. Also, let me know what you think of the story. It's my first National Treasure fic, so I don't know if I've got the characters right or not.

NOTE: This fic takes place after Book of Secrets, just so you know.


	5. Chapter 5: The Call

Ben woke with a start. _I must have fallen asleep thinking about Riley's note._ He thought to himself. He quickly checked his cell phone for any new messages, disappointed when there were none. He had hoped that Abigail or even Agent Sadusky would have called to let him know where Riley was.

He thought back to the note. He could feel that everything he needed to figure out where Riley was and who had taken him was on that single sheet of paper. He gently picked it up off his nightstand, unfolded it, and began examining it once more. He had already memorized the letter yesterday, but he kept reading it over and over again; if he ever had a serious head injury, the doctors would see the words burned into his skull.

His mind kept highlighting the cat reference. Why was Riley so specific about the cat? Riley didn't own a cat. Hell, he didn't even like cats! Ben laughed softly, remembering what Riley had called his neighbor's cat: a 'fuzzy, breath-stealing, glowy-eyed demon' were his exact words. And yet he was very particular about the fictional cat, telling Ben that he'd given it away. Ben still wasn't sure what the cat represented, but he knew that it represented something _important_, that it was a symbol for something Ben was supposed to notice. He didn't worry too much about forgetting the numbers; he had gone over his calendar and what he remembered of the days Riley had written of, and nothing notable had happened. But he read over them as well; with the way Riley's mind worked, the numbers could hold the key to everything.

Ben couldn't help the guilt that plagued him every time he reread the first line. _"__I hate you; you have no right to call me worthless, so no more brushing me aside like I do not matter, no more ignoring me whenever I open my mouth." _Riley had never said anything about feeling worthless. Ben had practically _cultivated_ self-confidence in the younger man after seeing how socially awkward he was. After rescuing him from his windowless cubicle, Ben had tried everything to get Riley to trust him. The kid had proved hard to win over. Nothing Ben had done, not taking him out to eat despite being strapped for cash (because who would give out a loan to someone who claimed to be hunting for imaginary treasure?), nor asking polite questions about whatever it was that Riley did with computers; nothing had held any sway over Riley.

Until, of course, Ben found out about the truck.

The truck in question was an old, beat-up red van that was rusting in places. The only reason it was still running was because, after its third trip to the shop, Riley had taken it upon himself to learn how the engine worked so he could do the repairs without a wallet-draining mechanic. It was the very epitome of a 'clunker,' a car one only drove until they could afford a better one.

No matter what anyone else said, Riley loved that truck – it had been his life, literally, as Ben had found out, quite by accident.

It had been a late night, one of discussing the stories about the treasure and talking about what the _Charlotte_ could hold for them. Riley had been the only one completely sober that night, both by choice and force (no one wanted to hear the kid whine about how much his head hurt). Ben gave Riley a packet of information about the _Charlotte_ that was vital for Riley's half-finished program to successfully find the missing ship. Ben was still amazed at how quickly Riley worked; he had only met Riley five months ago, and they were already a lot closer to finding the treasure. Riley, in a rare show of boldness, had offered to drive Ben back to the hotel where he was staying, his stay paid for courtesy of Ian's limitless bank account. The short ride had been awkwardly silent.

In the morning, Ben had been surprised to see Riley's truck in the hotel parking lot from his room's window. He had gone out to the red vehicle and knocked on the window, wondering where Riley was. The van's door had slid open, revealing a sleep-disheveled Riley.

It turned out that Riley had been living in his truck for the past eight months. His job hadn't paid enough for him to keep his tiny apartment, so he had set up camp in the confines of his car, and had his paycheck wired directly into his meager savings account; Riley was a penny-pincher at heart, and only splurged on electronics, like Ipods, computers, and various other things Ben knew nothing about. The ragged sleeping bag Riley had bought at a second-hand shop was rolled and stored under the front seat during the day. The jacket Riley constantly wore was wadded up and used as a pillow.

After Ben found out about this, he had gone to Ian and requested a room change. From then on, Riley had spent his nights on the second bed in Ben's room. Ben didn't know why he had felt such a strong urge to help the younger man; he had never been one for maternal instincts, but for some reason, he wanted to take care of Riley. Perhaps it was the age difference, Ben being about twelve years older than Riley, or maybe it was just how Riley acted; the idea that no one cared about what happened to him seemed to be ingrained in his nature so much that he outright _refused_ offers of help. Ben didn't know where this sense of self-sufficiency stemmed from, but he would have loved to find out.

Now, it seemed, he was going to find out the hard way. Ben felt slightly guilty asking the FBI to go through Riley's files. Riley had not been one to talk about his life before joining the adventure of a lifetime, and Ben had never thought to ask until now. From the very little Riley had told him, he had lived somewhere in Texas (he never specified) for a while, then gone to MIT. Ben was not surprised to learn that Riley had gone to the same school as he himself had gone to; the younger man was a genius with computers and Ben knew Riley could have easily gotten a free ride, though he never asked if this was true. After that, Ben had a pretty vague idea of the rest: Riley had graduated with a degree in computer-something-or-other, and gotten a job at the Smithsonian. Riley never talked about his life before and during college, and Ben never asked, respecting Riley's privacy.

However bad he felt about asking the FBI to pry into Riley's life, Ben knew it was the best way to find the young techie.

The call he had been waiting for (and dreading at the same time) came around eleven that morning. Ben had just been about to call Abigail to see what she knew when the phone rang. He raced to answer it, sliding on the tiled floor of his kitchen. It was Sadusky.

"Mr. Gates. You asked me to research any 'Robins' in Riley's profile, correct?" Ben nodded, forgetting Sadusky couldn't see him. Sadusky continued anyway, amusement evident in his voice. "Well, when he was four, he had two fish he called Robin Hood and Marian. He also named the neighborhood stray cat he used to feed 'Robin.'" Sadusky grew serious. "And he has a stepbrother and a stepfather, both called Robin." Ben sighed. The animals he could dismiss, especially the neighborhood cat, because he simply couldn't picture Riley going _near_ one without running for allergy medications. However, the stepbrother and stepfather sparked his interest. Riley had never told him his mother had remarried. Of course, there was probably a lot Riley had never told Ben. Hell, he'd had to find out about him living in his car on his own, so he could imagine Riley keeping a lot other things from him.

"Where do his stepbrother and stepfather live?" He asked, walking into his bedroom, glad his phone was cordless, for once. Ben wasn't a big fan of technology, preferring to do things the old-fashioned way, but Riley had forced him to update a few things. Ben was proud to say he now had an iPod, even if Riley teased him for filling it with all the great Presidential speeches instead of music.

"They're both in Houston, Texas. The brother works for Exxon, an oil and gas company. The stepfather was kicked out of the Marine Corps, worked at a gun resale store, and retired a few years ago."

"Why was the stepfather discharged?" Ben asked, the phone in the crook of his neck as he fished around in his closet for a duffel bag.

"For 'dishonorable conduct,' it seems." Ben didn't know a lot about the military or the Marines, but he knew enough to know that dishonorable conduct was not something to be taken lightly. Sadusky went on. "Apparently, he was caught hacking into the military database, looking for unpublicized information about the Manhattan Project."

Ben felt a chill sweep down his spine. Great, just _great_. They were dealing with someone who was trying to build atomic bombs. And he had Riley with him, too. _Perfect_.

"Sounds like a pretty shady guy. Find out all you can."

"Already on it. Ben-." Ben hung up before Sadusky could finish. He grabbed the duffel bag filled with clothes and toiletries, hefted his 'treasure hunting' backpack off the kitchen counter, and set off for the airport, already on his cell phone, calling to arrange for a direct flight to Houston.

* * *

Hi, everyone! I'm sorry if you were expecting something more substantial for the storyline, but I needed a chapter to work in a tiny, tiny clue and to better flesh out Riley's character. If this bothers you, review and let me know! Remember, this is my first National Treasure fic, so if the characters are weird or not themselves, _please _tell me.

Despite the fact that Riley is the main character, I'm trying out a technique that I heard about in English class. In a short story by some guy (can't remember his name), you didn't actually meet the main character until late in the story. Until that point, all you heard were what other characters thought of the main person. Let me know how you think this is going. I've never done it before, so I'm probably making loads of mistakes.


	6. Chapter 6: Meeting the Robins

For Ben, the flight from Washington D.C. to Houston felt a lot longer than its duration of three and a half hours. Ben stepped out of the airport and was hit by a wave of tremendous heat. He actually took a step back the heat was that bad. If this was where Riley had grown up, Ben could easily understand why the young man always wore either a hoodie or a jacket over his shirt. Compared to Houston, Washington D.C. was pretty damn cold. A freezer, really. Ben suddenly felt overdressed in his hiking boots, jeans, long-sleeved shirt and jacket. He quickly shed his jacket, and resolved to change into a short-sleeved shirt at the hotel.

Not forty-five minutes after landing at the Houston Intercontinental Airport, he walked out to the car lot and found the rental car. Being rich had its perks; companies were eager to please and made sure that he didn't have to go through agonizingly large amounts of paperwork for his rental car. Ben got into the car after putting his luggage and jacket on the back seat. He checked his phone to see if Sadusky or Abigail had called him. '_Three new messages_' popped up on his phone's screen; all were from Abigail.

_"Hi, Ben, it's Abigail. Just calling to see if you'd come up with anything new. Bye."_

_"Ben, it's Abigail again. You still haven't picked up. What on earth are you doing? I asked Agent Sadusky and he said he'd just phoned you. Call me back."_

_"Ben, where the __hell are you?! You call back right now!"_

Ben chuckled at how agitated his former-girlfriend sounded. To hear Abigail swear was not a good sign; it meant that she was no longer worried, just pissed off. Sadusky had probably told her where he'd gone. Ben quickly deleted all three messages from his voicemail, and sighed, resisting the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose; he was driving, however, and couldn't afford the distraction. _What else could I have expected?_ He wondered. _I didn't exactly tell her where I was going. She probably went to Sadusky._ While Sadusky wasn't exactly _**happy **_about Ben going to Houston alone, the FBI agent seemed to know that the treasure protector would do whatever it took to find his missing friend, with or without federal approval. He dialed in Abigail's number, and turned up the AC, feeling like he was getting sunburned even through the windscreen.

"Hello?" Abigail's voice was loud in his ear, but Ben didn't let it bother him as he drove away from the airport. Ben knew exactly how their conversation would go. He quickly reassured her that, _yes_, he was still breathing, _yes_, he was really in Houston, _no_, he wasn't flying back to DC until he had Riley, and _no_, she couldn't come. From the distracted way Abigail was speaking to him, Ben knew she was booking the next flight to Houston, despite what he'd told her.

"So, I'm guessing you don't think Ian's involved." Ben bristled slightly at Ian's name, but took a deep breath before speaking.

"I told Sadusky to check in on him-."

"When?" Abigail broke in.

"Before my flight left."

"You called **_him _**but didn't think to call **_me_**?" Abigail said in a hurt voice.

"Abigail…" He said, trying to come up with some placating words. He heard her sigh.

"Alright, I forgive you." God, Ben loved the woman right now. She wasn't going to flip out and make a big deal out of a little, er, _mistake _on his part. "Now what did Sadusky say?"

Nope, she was just going to grill him until he cracked.

"He said that Ian still has eight years to go without parole and that there's been no suspicious movement in the 'darker' crowd he used to associate with." Ben flinched at the mention of Ian's 'friends.' How he hated Ian! If he hadn't threatened to shoot Riley more times than Ben cared to count, the two could have been friends. But no, Ian's greed and lust for money had been too great. Ben sighed softly.

"But that's not to say Ian isn't planning something." Abigail sounded exasperated. "I know you, Ben. You don't trust Ian as far as you can throw him." '_Which isn't far'_ went unspoken_,_ though they both knew it was true. Ben may have started working out after the Templar Treasure, but that didn't mean he could throw a man more than his own weight. Ben absently wished he had taken a martial art now, like Judo or Karate. Riley had been kidnapped (Ben refused to listen to any other suggestion), and was probably being guarded by men who knew how to kill a man in nineteen different ways. All Ben knew how to do was punch and kick wildly.

"True. But in all honesty, I don't think it's Ian this time. Think about it, Abigail. We don't know anything about Riley's family other than his stepfather was kicked out of the Marine Corps for researching atomic bombs." He heard a sharp intake of breath. _Sadusky obviously didn't tell her much other than that I was going to Houston_, he thought. "If I find anything, I'll call you." Ben said quickly and hung up, not wanting to hear Abigail's reaction. He called Sadusky afterwards and asked for the address of Riley's stepfather, Robin Whitson. Sadusky gave it to him rather unwillingly, grumbling about how Ben was in no position to be making demands. Ben had simply said that if Sadusky didn't give him the address, he would find someone who would, the implication being that he didn't feel the FBI was up to the task. Not wanting his employers to hear of this, Sadusky had given in.

The house at the address was plain, and Ben missed it his first time circling the block. He had gone to the nearest hotel and checked in, and then immediately driven to the address Sadusky had assured him was Riley's stepfather's home. When he'd found it, Ben parked opposite the house and made his way to the front door, taking in every detail of his surroundings, just in case Riley had left a clue of his whereabouts by some obscure stroke of luck.

The area relatively quiet, though there was the occasional bought of through-traffic; cars going ten miles over the speed limit whizzed by, blaring rap music. The neighborhood was quiet other than that, the soft roar of nearby traffic not bothering the occupants much.

Ben took a long hard look at the house in front of him. The house lawn was neatly kept, though the point was moot because all the grass was dead, as brown and prickly as a hedgehog's back. A pathetic amount of water dribbled sluggishly onto the roots of the single tree, old, gnarled, and obviously dying, in the center of the dead, brown lawn, coming from a long hose that snaked through the dead grass from a faucet on the house. The driveway was uneven and cracked, dead weeds rustling hollowly in the faint breeze. The garage door was open, revealing an old, beat-up car with about ten years of dust on it.

Then there was the house itself.

It was a one-story house, this much he could see. It's roof was shingled with black shingles, and the gutters were filled with rotting leaves. Squirrels scampered hastily over the house on their way to the neighbor's backyard. Ben thought the house may have been made of brick, but wasn't sure, because he couldn't exactly see it, thanks to the glossy dark green leaves of the ivy covering the entire front side of the house. The only bright spot of the house were the pale pink flowers that bloomed abundantly beneath the front window.

Ben resisted the urge to turn around and turn the AC in the car on full blast and just sit there until he didn't feel like he was melting from the heat and from his nervousness of potentially failing to find Riley. He forced himself to walk up the cracked walkway to the shadowed front door. He rang the doorbell, didn't hear a sound, figured it was broken, and knocked firmly on the door instead, using the tarnished brass knocker.

An unintelligible yell came from inside, which Ben took to mean 'wait.' He stood there, for a few moments, listening to the irritatingly cheerful sounds of the colony of sparrows that seemed to surround the house. Riley Poole, his best friend, was missing! How could they go about their short simple lives as though nothing had happened, like nothing was wrong in the world? Ben wondered how he was going to survive the frustration that never seemed very far from boiling over inside of him like some metaphorical pot of water.

The door finally opened, revealing a wrinkled old man. He was hunched over, small in the way only the elderly can be; Ben couldn't see the man's body very well, thanks to the black shirt and wooly brown sweater that hung off his small frame oddly. He gripped his walking cane shakily, arthritis-swollen fingers, decorated with age spots, curled around the wood like claws. He shuffled forwards, his feet never actually leaving the ground; the only way Ben could tell he'd moved was that his brown pants had rustled and by the sound of the man's shoes scuffing on the floor. The old man still had most of his hair, wiry and frazzled as it was, a metallic shade of gray; small white tufts of hair appeared in his ears. His face set in a fierce scowl, and he had the hardest gray eyes Ben had ever had the displeasure to look into.

"What do you want?" The man spat. Literally. Ben felt some spittle land on his face. Seriously _nasty_. Ben cleared his throat.

"I'm looking for a friend of mine, Riley Poole. You're his stepfather, right?" The man nodded, his lips shiny with saliva.

"Yes. Robin Whitson. What do you want?" He repeated. His voice was course and dry, similar to the sound of dead leaves rubbing together.

"Well, I was wondering-."

"If I've seen him recently? _**No**_, I haven't!" Whitson snarled. "I haven't seen that little _runt_ in years! Why should he come crawling back to me?" Ben felt shaken by the amount of bitterness in the old man's voice. If this was how Whitson acted around Riley, he felt sure that his young friend would never go back to his stepfather. _Willingly_. Which, when Ben thought about it, actually made kidnapping more and more of a plausible excuse for Riley's sudden disappearance.

"May I come in?" He asked. Whitson looked at him like he had just grown a second head.

"No." Whitson said shortly.

"Sir, I-." Ben started, then realized he had no idea what he was going to say. Whitson was looking at him, triumph shining in his hard eyes as though he had just won a personal victory over Ben. Ben looked away.

"Dad? Who're you talking to?" Another man came to the door. Ben guessed he was Robin Whitson Jr.

The man was a few years younger than Ben, but much older than Riley. His face retained the plumpness of youth, but most of his baby fat seemed to have gravitated to his stomach, though the beer in his hand may have had something to do with his large belly. He was wearing a white t-shirt with the silhouette of a naked woman on the front. His faded green shorts left Ben with a very unpleasant view of his hairy legs. He was barefoot, so Ben got to see his horrible toenails as well. _Has he ever heard of nail clippers?_ Ben wondered, unintentionally staring at the yellow, jagged nails. Ben forced his gaze upwards, to the man's plump face. He had inherited Robin Whitson Sr's hard gray eyes, but his hair was a dark chestnut.

"No one, Rob. He was just leaving." Whitson said with such certainty that Ben couldn't do anything other than turn away and go back to his car, disappointment weighing heavily on his shoulders. Ben didn't care if Whitson had been useless and offered no information or any sign that he cared for his stepson, because his entire attitude screamed 'guilty' to Ben.

If Riley was in that man's house, Ben wasn't about to give up. He _couldn_'t give up! If he didn't find Riley soon, Ben wasn't sure how his health would be effected. Riley's absence was a constant, sharp ache in his chest. The very thought of abandoning his friend when he was getting closer made Ben's heart clench and he found it hard to breathe properly.

"_**Get Riley back is all that matters, so screw everything else,**_" was quickly becoming Ben's personal motto. What was worse, Ben was beginning to believe it.

* * *

OK, so it's been a little while since I've updated. So, I hope this makes up for it a little. I've included a bit of symbolism in the descriptions of the house, and of Whitson's physical description. Hopefully, you'll be able to figure it out. If not, I'm going to reveal it in the Author's Note of the next chapter. The symbolism for Whitson's attitude and the house's description will be revealed sometime in the next few chapters.

Let me know how you like my style. Please remember that this is my first National Treasure fic, my first attempt to do this style, my first time to try out having the main character not appear until the end of the story. Let me know what you think I could improve upon.

Also, remember what Riley's letter says. Everything I write is somehow tied into the letter and its meaning.

Anyway, please read and review!


	7. Chapter 7: The Importance of Numbers

Abigail was waiting for him, standing just outside his room, when Ben got back to the hotel. At the sight of his former-girlfriend, Ben felt like a bit of normalcy had returned to his life. Whether it was hunting for treasure or driving at breakneck speed away from people who would kill for whatever precious historical artifact they had, Abigail was there. Of course, _Riley _had always been there as well.

Ben felt his heart give a sharp twist at the thought of Riley.

"Ben…?" Abigail said, concerned.

"I'm fine." Ben said at once, trying to avoid any non-Riley related chit-chat. He brushed past her and unlocked his room. She followed him inside, shutting the door behind her. He pulled his 'treasure hunter' backpack onto the bed and began sorting through the various tools he would need. "We need to get into Whitson's house." Abigail looked incredulously at him.

"We're going to break into someone's home?" She asked, mouth hanging open. Ben looked up at her.

"What part of, 'we need to get into Whitson's house' didn't you understand?" He asked her. If it were Riley he was speaking to, the conversation would already be over. _But Riley __**isn't**__ here. That's why we're having this conversation in the first place_, he reminded himself, feeling his heart jolt painfully.

"B-But, we're in _**Texas**_." He looked at Abigail uncomprehendingly. "Everyone has _guns_ and stuff." She said. Ben quirked an eyebrow, amused.

"True. But somehow, I don't think the Whitsons are that bright." He said, turning back to his backpack. He had everything he needed, plus a few other things. He walked out of the room, Abigail trailing behind him with an expression on her face that suggested she wasn't sure why she was tagging along. She knew he was going to do this with or without her help. If she helped him, there would probably less chances for them to get _shot_.

The house was dark and silent, which made breaking in even worse. Every sound they made, Abigail was sure it was going to be their last before they were shot. But the Whitsons didn't have a dog, so their movements went unheard. They inspected the kitchen, the living room, and the only bathroom, which was so unclean Abigail didn't dare think of it for too long in case she got nauseous again. Ben even dared to go into the son's room, assured by the loud snores and the sounds of the man's double chin slapping flatly against his throat that he was sound asleep.

They found nothing. Not a hint or a clue that Riley had been in the house or that anyone connected to his kidnapping had been in the house. But Ben wasn't about to give up, and made use of the time they had left, so he inspected the backyard, just to be on the safe side. Again, nothing.

Ben felt his heart was slowly, painfully, being squeezed into oblivion. There was a dull roar in his ears and his breaths were sharp and silent, even during the drive back to the hotel. Once alone in his room, Abigail having gone back to her own room two floors below, Ben was nervous, antsy, restless. He couldn't sit down for more than a few minutes before he had to spring to his feet in an attempt to get rid of the excess energy that was rushing through his system like a drug. There was a weight on his shoulders that was gradually killing him. He didn't know how much longer he could take.

A week passed, with no word from Riley or Sadusky. Ben spent most of that week talking to the Whitsons' neighbors, asking if they had seen a young man, 5'8", twenty-six years old, brown hair, blue eyes, glasses? No one had seen him, nor noticed anything strange about the Whitsons. Everyone disliked the cankerous old geezer, who was known for yelling at kids, threatening to beat them with his cane (and following through with that threat several times), and being an all-in-all bad neighbor who gave a bad impression upon visitors. Most of the women on the street said that Robin Whitson Jr. needed to grow a pair and get a job. They weren't sure what it was he did, but it obviously wasn't labor-intensive, if his jiggling gut had any say in the matter.

It turned out that Whitson Sr. had a townhouse that he rented out, but when Ben went there, it was already occupied by a couple with a young child, so that ruled out renting it under a false name to see if Riley had been hidden away in it. And Ben couldn't risk breaking into the townhouse because the kid was still in the '_screaming in the middle of the night for absolutely no reason_' stage, and Ben was sure that, with his luck, he'd break in, only to have the kid start crying. This would lead to awkward questions from the parents, and Ben getting arrested and being put in jail for something so small compared to everything else he'd done that happened to be illegal (stealing the Declaration of Independence, stealing from the Queen of England's office, kidnapping the President of the United States, breaking into the Library of Congress and taking pictures of a book that wasn't supposed to exist), it was almost laughable.

The townhouse's garage was out as a potential 'Riley-hiding-place', because it had been converted into the living room. Ben knew. He'd peeked through the windows, and nothing was out of the ordinary. And the basement was out as well. Ben had learned from listening to other people that basements in Houston tended to _suck_ big time because they flooded whenever it rained, so a secret basement as also out as a place to store the whiney young man Ben called his best friend. In Houston, Ben soon found out, it didn't rain, it _**poured**_, complete with thunder, lightning, and strong winds - the whole enchilada, as Riley would have probably put it.

At the end of the week, Ben was in a bad way. His clothes were rumpled and the buttons of his shirts were often wrong because he had simply given up caring about himself, all his energies fixated on finding Riley. Ben's eyes were bloodshot from too-little sleep, he was in the process of growing a beard, he was tense and jumpy, and his hair was a mess from the many times he had run his fingers through it in an attempt to get his brain to work. For the life of him, he couldn't figure out who, other than the hard-eyed Whitson Sr., could have taken Riley, and where he had put the poor techie. Riley's note was never far from his fingers and was now soft and worn thin from the many times Ben had played with it in his hands, just to reassure himself that Riley had once existed. He had had to copy it again in ink, the lead from his pencil rubbing off and leaving the paper a pale grey, the words indistinguishable from the smudges of lead.

Abigail wasn't much better than Ben, appearance-wise, but this was because she was constantly trying to make Ben take care of himself. In fact, it had been she who had made sure Ben had eaten for most of the week, made sure he didn't overdose on coffee, and seeing he showered occasionally.

Ben's pride was subdued enough for him to call Sadusky, demanding any and all information about Ian, just because he knew the agent couldn't see Riley's family kidnapping him and didn't want to be hung up on before he had gotten any information.

"Have you found anything?" Sadusky asked. Ben had gradually worn down most of the FBI agent's resistance to the idea that Riely had merely gone on vacation by insisting, each and every time he called, that Riley did not take random vacations, and yes, the note was crucial to finding the techie. Ben was sure he heard the smirk in the agent's voice, because he knew that Sadusky still wasn't completely sold on the whole 'supposed kidnapping' idea, but couldn't do much more than sigh and shake his head. Ben was rereading his copy of Riley's note again, the inked version, though he knew it by heart. Again, the cat reference was bugging the _heck_ out of him, as it had been doing ever since he read the words, even as he listened disinterestedly to whatever Sadusky was saying. Ben had worked out fairly quickly that the name 'Robin' referred to Robin Whitson Senior and Junior, and the 'white' part was the 'Whit' of Whitson, while the 'Agent Sonny' wasn't Sadusky, but rather the 'son' of Whitson. But the numbers and their meaning continued to elude him. For Riley, they could have meant anything.

Back to Sadusky, though Ben didn't feel like listening to what Ian's friends had been up to. The federal agent was probably gloating that they still hadn't found Riley, though Ben knew the agent was getting worried, even if he didn't show it. Ben had shown him the letter, and while Sadusky had agreed it was strange, he had said nothing more about it, putting off Riley's odd behavior as a cry to be left alone while going on 'holiday' to escape the pressures of stardom. "_I have given away Robin, the white tomcat I told you about three or five weeks ago"_ Ben read for the only-God-knew time. Something clicked in his mind, and he sat bolt upright.

"Sadusky." He said. Sadusky went quiet, hearing the change in Ben's voice, and how serious yet excited the treasure protector sounded. "You said that Riley used to feed a neighborhood cat he named 'Robin,' correct?"

"Yes, but-." Sadusky began to say. Ben cut him off.

"Where did Riley use to live?"

"What?" Sadusky sounded very confused, but Ben didn't care. He heard Abigail come into his room. When she tried to come closer, he motioned frantically with an arm to get her attention. He mouthed 'paper' and mimed scribbling. She rushed to bring him a piece of paper and a pen, crouching by him, breathing hard with excitement. She knew that Ben had just figured something out, and couldn't wait to hear what it was. Ben stuffed the paper and pen in his pocket, getting to his feet.

"Where did Riley use to live? Where was he when he fed the cat?" Ban demanded, furious at himself. Why hadn't he seen it before? _Of __**course **_Riley would leave him more to go on! What kind of friend was Ben if he couldn't figure out what Riley meant? Ben was mentally kicking himself all the way out to the car as he waited for Sadusky to give him the information he wanted. He didn't even notice Abigail coming after him, his coat in hand.

"He used to live in a neighborhood called 'Tanglewood'." Ben wrote it down so he could put it into the GPS system of the car later, glad Riley had taught him how to use one. _**Riley**_…Ben suddenly grinned like a madman, causing the woman walking by to shepherd her children away from him, shooting glares at Abigail, as if to say, _why can't you keep your crazy person in line?_ Ben didn't notice or care.

"What number was his house?" He asked, still grinning, eyes alight with the same fire, that same glint of determination and passion that had appeared when he had been going down the 'creepy tunnel inside the tomb.'

"8523, Robin Lane." Ben began laughing, a high and wild laugh, a laugh of one who has struggled all his life and is tasting sweet success for the first time, a laugh of triumph and insane joy. Ben actually did a short dance of pure ecstasy, grabbing Abigail by the waist and twirling her around, still laughing.

"The numbers! I _knew_! I _**knew**_!" Ben panted, setting Abigail back on the ground. He was exhilarated, adrenalin sweeping through his veins. He put in the address on the car's GPS, grinning so hard his face ached. But his heart was soaring with hope, so he didn't care.

Ben backed out of the parking spot as soon as Abigail had snapped on her seatbelt. He pushed down on the accelerator much harder than necessary. Ben didn't notice, and Abigail didn't say anything. She merely prayed they didn't get pulled over, because she wasn't sure if Ben would stop for anyone, not even the police, unless that person was Riley.

* * *

OK, so here's yet another chapter up! I'm so glad that people are still reading and reviewing!

I live in Houston myself, so the heat, the rain, and the absence of basements are all true facts as far as I know.

--Response to chibi oniyuri's review of chapter 2: Sorry, but I goofed there. I had originally planned to do something different there, and I guess I forgot about it. Thanks to letting me know! I'll go back and fix it at some point. I love your reviews, by the way - they're so long and helpful!--

Remember how I said I'd explain the symbolism about the lawn and Whitson Sr? Here goes (I hope this makes sense to people): I am likening Mr. Whitson (Sr) to the lawn, which is brown and brittle, and the tree in the lawn, which is old, dying, gnarled and twisted.

I'll explain: Mr. Whitson's body is twisted because its old (his spine is compressing - he's shrinking), and his bones are brittle with age (old people's bones break more easily than youngsters' bones). His figure is like that of the dying tree - his fingers are twisted, his spine hunched over. He dresses in brown, just like the tree and grass are both brown with death. He is hard and spiteful, sharp of word and manner, like the dead grass is spiky and causes discomfort when walked upon barefoot. Dead grass is brittle and breaks easily, just like Whitson's bones are brittle. The spittle is like the water on the tree, pathetic and not doing any good; with Whitson it is because it does not let people like him nor help his reputation, and for the tree, the tree is already dying, so no amount of water will do it any good.

As for the symbolism of the ivy and the flowers, I will explain later, when we actually find Riley (I haven't decided if this is going to happen in the next chapter or the one after that).

Until then, let me known what you think of my style and the characters. If they're not in character, let me know and I'll try harder!

Anyway, read and review!

Just on a side note, the chapter name is a reference to _The Importance of Being Earnest_ - just a little foreshadowing of the confusion and the surprise twist to come!

* * *

**Important!! **

* * *

I am trying to keep the slash to a minimum, just letting you get glimpses of what Ben is feeling, because I'm thinking of writing a sequel to '_To Catch A Thief_,' which will also have 'Thief' in the tittle (as you can tell, I'm not sure what to call it yet. If you have any ideas, tell me in a review!). This second story will have a _lot _more romance, and, if I get enough requests, perhaps a lemon (maybe - never written one before, so a bit nervous about the prospect).

This second story will go into how Ben and Riley's relationship develops after _To Catch A Thief_'s end, which, yes, is going to happen soon. You didn't think I'd let Riley go un-found, did you? Shame on you! I'm practically the _advocate _of happy endings!

But I'm planning on writing a sequel because I don't think that Ben should suddenly discover he loves Riley and that Riley, after being kidnapped and undergoing a ton of stress from the experience, will accept Ben because, guess what, he loves Ben too! I want Ben to realize his affections gradually and to slowly act upon them.

I also want to see Ben and Riley dating, instead of discovering they both like each other and going to the bedroom to have hot sex immediately following. A relationship isn't founded on sex, but on friendship, time, experience, and knowing your other half's faults and putting up with them or learning to love them.

My point is that if Ben didn't know about Riley's stepfather, what else doesn't he know about Riley? I want them to find out about each other, and I am going to try my hand at writing what I think happens when they start to ask questions. I also want the opportunity to write about their dates and their evolving relationship.

If you have any suggestions, tell me!


	8. Chapter 8: 8523 Robin Lane

The drive to 8523 Robin Lane was short (thanks to Ben's speeding), silent, and tense. Both Ben and Abigail were nervous. _What if Riley wasn't there?_ Abigail wondered briefly before dismissing the idea. If Riley was still missing at the end of their visit to the house, God knew what Ben would do. She was beginning to suspect that Ben cared for Riley as more than a concerned best friend, but, then again, she had never seen him deal with such an immense tragedy, so she didn't know how he normally reacted. Maybe this was just how he got.

_Or maybe not_, she thought, glancing over at Ben. His mouth was tight with anxiety, his eyes were focused on the road, though she suspected he wasn't paying too much attention, which worried her, and he was gripping the steering wheel so hard his knuckles were white.

Ben would have stormed in like a headstrong young idiot. Really, he would have. But, oh, _**no**_, Abigail just had to be sensible and, rather than run the risk of getting shot (_hello_, in _**Texas**_!?), she decided to call Sadusky. Ben waited impatiently while Abigail talked with the agent, requesting backup just in case. The moment she glanced away, he took off for the house at a dead run. He made it to the front door in three seconds, and had it on the floor in two. He was getting good at kicking down doors. They say necessity is the mother of invention. Well, it's also, apparently, the mother of discovering new skills, skills that would be so_ cool_ if they weren't needed in such desperate situations.

A frantic, silent search of the house revealed…no Riley. Ben refused to give up, and searched the house again, forcing himself to go slowly and methodically over each and every square foot of the modest house. It had two bedrooms, a small living room, a single, cramped bathroom, and one kitchen. It was furnished like one big hotel room, with impersonal, boring-colored furniture and equally dull paint on the walls. The couches a darker shade of the neutral beige that graced the walls, the carpet was beige, everything that could be beige, _was_. The small television in the off-white kitchen was the only sign of life apart from the pair of jackets in the hall closet. Ben stopped in the larger of the two bedrooms, his heart still hammering away in his chest. He was panting a bit from his first dash through the house, and adrenalin was making him have trouble standing still. But he was sure something was different about this room.

Something was not quite right.

There was a smell in the air, a mild musk or cologne, that suggested someone had been inside the room rather recently. Ben had spent a year around Ian, and his nose had grown very sensitive to whatever cologne the blonde man was wearing. If his cologne was stronger than normal, it meant he wasn't going to meet with 'someone who had information,' but was, in fact, going on a date. Ben's sensitivity to scents proved valuable, because if Ian arrived at the hotel smelling of some flowery perfume, it meant he had slept with whatever rich woman had struck his fancy, and Ben could tell him every single thing that still needed to be done and Ian wouldn't care. If Ian came smelling of his own cologne, Ian had been unsuccessful in gaining a bedmate, and Ben had to be extra careful in making sure things went smoothly or suffer Ian's wrath. Not stopping to think about how strange it was that his enemy had actually given Ben a useful skill, he got down on his hands and knees, lifted the large, disgustingly beige bedcover away from the floor, and peered underneath the bed.

The carpet was off.

Not _off_ as in 'not on the floor,' or _off_ as in 'bad-smelling' like food sometimes did if left in the refrigerator for too long, but _off_ as in 'wrong.' There was a faint seam running in a big square beneath the bed, almost like a patch of carpet had been replaced. The carpet was all the same color, more beige. Unless you knew what the hell you were looking for, your eyes would just glide over the small defect and you would never see it. But whoever had replaced the carpet couldn't have known was that Ben had trained himself from an early age to notice details other people didn't, just in case the next clue to the treasure everyone said didn't exist was hidden in plain sight.

He got to work.

And that was how Abigail found him: ripping apart the carpet like it alone was responsible for Riley's disappearance. By some show of the superhuman strength people show when they're in an extremely emotional state, Ben had managed to set the bed on its side, pillows and quilt tumbling to the floor.

"Ben?" She said softly, as though he were a wild animal. "Ben, the police are on their way to help. Why don't we just wait for them and-."

"No." Abigail had never heard Ben sound so, well, _dangerous_. He was practically growling at her, and she was sure that if he'd had fangs, he would have bared them menacingly at her. Abigail stood back and let Ben continue his destruction of the carpet, knowing that if she got too close, the treasure protector would probably send her away. Ben was acting like only _he_ could save Riley. Which, if her theory of Ben caring more than he let on was correct, was exactly what he subconsciously wanted; he wanted to send Riley a clear message of devotion, to make the techie know that Ben cared for him enough to go up against unknown enemies alone.

The lack of carpet revealed a trapdoor in the floor. Before Abigail could say anything, Ben had jerked it open and already half-way inside the vertical tunnel beneath the door. She followed, _oh_ so glad that she had chosen to wear jeans and sneakers instead of a skirt and high heels; it made going down the steel ladder built into the wall so much easier. The light coming from the window in the room above made visibility slightly better, but she still felt apprehensive about going in blind. The ladder went on for about five feet, and she was very happy when she felt something solid and flat beneath her feet.

She saw that they were in a narrow room with fluorescent lighting on the ceiling, giving the room the feel of a cramped prison cell, only with concrete walls on all sides. She could feel mild claustrophobia setting in, but chased it away by telling herself it was just another part of the big, open, holding cell at Buckingham Palace. It worked until she saw Ben already making his way to the deadlocked door on the right that she hadn't noticed before. Then it sank in that they were in _unknown_ territory, going against _unknown_ enemies of an _unknown_ number armed with _unknown_ weaponry.

She joined him, but stood back a bit so he didn't think she was encroaching upon his space. He slid back the bolt as quietly as possible, and was in the process of opening the door, Abigail peering nervously over his shoulder, when the familiar sound of the safety of a gun being removed sounded.

Ben froze, not wanting to get shot. If Riley wasn't in the room he was about to go into, then getting shot for nothing was pretty silly. If, however, he could confirm that Riley was indeed in the room, then getting shot was pretty much his only option if he wanted to see his best friend ever again. Unfortunately, he couldn't tell for sure if Riley was or was not behind the door.

So he was pretty much screwed.

"Put your hand behind your head and turn around." Ben did as he was told, seeing Abigail do the same. Their would-be killer was well-built and rather like Ian in appearance, complete with blonde hair, only the man pointing a gun at them at the moment had his in a buzz cut and had brown eyes, not blue. He was dressed in all black, so Ben couldn't tell if he had other weapons on him or not.

"Look, we-." Abigail started to say, looking very nervous.

"Shut up." The man said, his gun moving a little as he spoke. "Now, if you want to live, you'll come quietly." Had he not been in danger of getting shot, Ben would have laughed. How cliché could you get? Maybe this guy had watched too many Italian Mafia movies. Ben wondered for a moment if the man was of Italian heritage, took another look at his blonde hair, and dismissed the thought. Most Italians had dark hair, right? Ben wasn't sure. He spent his time looking for treasure, not people, and had been to so many different countries looking for clues that every person he encountered seemed to just like the next, with only hair color and gender changing.

The man with the gun stepped forwards and pulled Abigail's arms behind her. Ben heard the sound of handcuffs, and realized, not without a bit of joy, that they weren't going to get shot, but, if he remembered what happened in movies where the heroes got into trouble, handcuffed and put in the room that held the first kidnapped person. Which meant, he was going to see Riley! Or, if Riley was…no, Riley was alive, so Ben would see him. Riley couldn't be dead, because he's Riley, and Riley has lived through guns pointed at his face too many times to count, exploding boats, people shooting at him, the coppers at Buckingham Palace searching for whoever had triggered the fire alarm, car chases involving _more_ shooting, the Topsy-Turvy Table of Doom and Death (Riley's name, not Ben's), and the flooding of Cibola, so therefore, Riley couldn't be dead. Because Riley had survived so many things that if he was killed by a stupid _bullet_, it would just be pathetic, and if there was one thing Ben knew with absolute certainty about Riley, it was that he hated to look pathetic. Even if he managed to unknowingly pull it off in a very cute way on an almost daily basis.

Wait…_cute_?

The feel ofhandcuffs being locked onto his wrists distracted Ben. Ben didn't dare say anything about how he could feel his arms protesting at being forced into an uncomfortable position; he knew that one wrong word and he would most _defiantly_ wind up getting shot. The guy with the gun (Ben still didn't know who he was) opened the door Ben had unlocked and shoved his two captives inside. They went down three flights of stairs, with only a few bare bulbs hanging from the ceiling to light their way. Finally, they reached another door, this one very secure: it was padlocked about four times, had numerous deadbolt locks on the side with the hinges, and even had one of those chains on it, like hotel rooms have. Whatever was in the room 

was either very dangerous or very valuable, and Abigail did not like it one bit. Their captive, still pointing his gun at them, undid all the locks and chains. It took a couple of minutes.

An absurd amount of fluorescent lighting greeted them. The bright white lights always reminded Abigail of going to school, which brought back unpleasant memories. Not that she hadn't loved learning, but it had been the bitches at school who teased her for loving history that had made her first few years of schooling career rather miserable. After that, she had gone to a university in America, gotten her doctorate, and taken her position at the National Archives. _Why can't the bad guys ever install __**normal**__ lights, just for a change? _Abigail complained, silently of course; no sense losing her life over such a small thing. Liberty and freedom she could understand, but _lights_? She forced her thoughts back to the matter at hand. She was a big girl now, no longer a wide-eyed student, and it was her self-appointed job to make sure Ben didn't kill himself trying to find Riley.

The first thing she noticed about the room, apart from the annoyingly bright lights, was that it was much like the first on they'd been in, only about six times bigger and a hell of a lot taller. It was the height of a two-story house and built like an airplane hangar, with a set of metal stairs and platforms going up on wall, and one metal floor several feet above their heads. The walls were still concrete, but decorated with boards so burdened with papers, that Abigail just had to guess what they were made of. As they were forced to walk across the room, Abigail glanced at the papers, and saw they sported calculations and diagrams so complex and elaborate that only a handful of people would be able understand them. They picked their way through the sea of balls of crumpled paper, obviously failed ideas and concepts.

One of the walls was devoted to power tools, many of which Abigail didn't know the names of. There were wrenches of every size, a few things Abigail thought might be blowtorches, and some tools so odd she couldn't imagine what they were used for.

They were forced to walk towards one of the corners of their giant concrete prison. There was a wall of sea green plastic sheets, like those in hospitals used to give patients privacy. Abigail couldn't help but think how ironic it was that they were probably going to die near something closely related with a place of healing. Their captor made them sit down on the floor a few feet away from the wall of sheets, and wrapped a length rope tightly around their feet.

"Now you stay here." He said in a mockingly sweet tone. He pushed aside one of the plastic sheets and ducked inside before his captive audience could see anything. Abigail took the opportunity to check for damage. Ben had followed orders quietly, thank God, so they hadn't been hit or shot. From the grimace on his face, she guessed that he wasn't too happy about the handcuffs. She, too, was beginning to loath the metal contraptions; the metal was biting into her skin and she was sure it would leave marks. Assured that Ben was alright, she surveyed the room, looking for another way out. The only door she had seen was the one they had come through, but it never hurt to look for another option.

There was a space of ten feet on one of the walls furthest from the entrance, where several long wooden desks stood heavily burdened with various machines and numerous computers. An self-respecting techno-geek would drool at the sight of this. There was a projector screen hanging on the wall above the desks, but it was blank of anything that could help her figure out where she was and for what the machines were used. A rolling chair was in front of one of the computer screens; it was unoccupied, so it didn't give any clues to who was doing this. Behind the desks, Abigail could make out a tangled maze of wires, much like the one on Riley's bedroom floor before he had been kidnapped. Riley…she wondered Riley had created this technological paradise. She knew he was smart, yes, but not enough to build something like this. On the level above them, she could see more desks and the light of even more computer screens.

Everything around them spoke of dangerous technology none but the creator could begin to comprehend. Only now did Abigail feel fear wrap an icy tendril around her insides. When her nameless captor had placed the handcuffs on her wrists, even in a room where no one would care if they died unless the police came looking for them, she hadn't been scared. So why at the sight of all that technology did she feel like running in the opposite direction? Rationally, she knew technology was invaluable in her line of work for keeping documents like the Declaration of Independence from disintegrating, but she still didn't know how a lot of it worked; she had tech people who handled it. Yet still the fear came, making everything she looked at seem more dangerous, more menacing. She could swear the room smelt evil, swear on her mother's grave that she could hear some tormenter breathing in her ear.

But _**why**_? Why was she so afraid of these computers when there was a man with a gun not ten feet away?

Because she was in someone else's world now, a strange, foreign world of glowing screens, sleek, shiny metal and plastic, and great black boxes with too many knobs and blinking lights of differing colors. A world where history was illegitimate, something old, something to be forgotten in the rush of new inventions. She was out of her element, and it was scaring the crap out of her. Whoever had set up this haven of technology held all the power.

And Abigail had nothing.

* * *

I incorporated a tiny, _tiny_ bit of slash, because I wanted there to be a little bit more credibility to Abigail's theory, and also to prove that Ben's affection is not worry for Riley gone too far.

OK, second part of symbolism of Whitson and his yard will be revealed in the next Author's Note, but I'd love to hear what readers have come up with.

--For chibi oniyuri: thank you so much for the lovely reviews! They're really helpful, despite what you may think of them, and have raised some very good questions. The whole Riley knew about the _Charlotte _idea will be revealed in the sequel. Ben is realizing that he doesn't know Riley as well as he thought he did, so he's going to be asking a lot of questions when they're on dates. And the 'Ben-ignoring-Riley-during-quest-for-second-treasure' thing will also be addressed in the sequel. Thank you again for the wonderful reviews, and I hope you enjoy what you read.--

If you think the characters are off, please let me know. This is my first _National Treasure_ fic, and my first time writing in the style of 'main character not appearing until the end,' so please tell me what you think.

* * *

Any ideas for the name of the sequel are welcome, so if you have one, let me know!


	9. Chapter 9: Why?

**Long AN + Explanation:** OK, I've gotten a ton of reviews, for which I thank absolutely everyone. I never dreamed than people would like this so much.

Anyway, most of the reviews I've received have asked, sometimes demanded, why I haven't updated in bloody _forever_. I'm sorry everyone, but there's kind of a long list of reasons why I've sort of died online. Here goes!

**1** - School is torture. I go to a very hard school, so during the school year, my free time equals zero, zip, zilch. Homework eats what time I don't spend at school itself.

**2** – Writer's Block really, really sucks. I have the case of the Middle Blocks, meaning I know how I want the story to start and finish, but the middle bit, where each detail has to be right and fit and actually make sense is crucial…let's just say I have issues with the middle parts of stories. With every single thing I write, this happens. I don't want to spend forever explaining why this, this, and this happened. I want to skip to the end and let readers figure out how the hell characters got from here to there in the space of one chapter. So I've had to take a bit of a step away from the story and create an actual outline. For me, I start with an idea, flesh it out in my head, think of all possible ways the story could go (still all in my head so I don't change the plot half-way through writing it), and then finally begin to write it on the computer. I don't do outlines, character sheets, or anything like that until I get stuck in, you guessed it, the middle.

**3** – Hurricane Gustav. My family went out of town during the hurricane and I forgot to bring my internet card with me. And if you're wondering why I left because of a stupid storm, it's because I live in Houston, people, Houston! You know, that place in Texas?

**4** – School (again).

**5** – Hurricane Ike. You've seen the news, right? The whole "Galveston? What's Galveston? That pile of drenched rubble on the Texas coast? Oh, so that's Galveston! Oh yeah, and parts of Houston are underwater, several million have no electricity, some still have no clean water, the city is still recovering" thing? Yeah. I went into the hill country for a week, where I had power, TV, running water, and no Internet because my Internet Card I left at home, the home I wasn't sure I was going to have whenever I went back to Houston.

**6** – Internet still down at home. Yes, I am back home, _**finally**_! It feels like forever since I've been here, though I got back this past Sunday and did yard work all of Monday. Anyway, I still have power, though that died for several hours yesterday morning, and while the phones work, the Internet does not. My school still doesn't have power, so I'm not sure when I go back to that hell-hole. I've had a full week off, and probably going to have another week off unless an act of evil happens and we get power sometime this week.

Anyway, enough of the very good, very _reasonable _and_** true**_ excuses (what do I stand to gain by lying? Sympathy? Pssh, I've gotten enough of that, thanks). The only reason I can now update is because I found my Internet card. And it's as slow as a turtle on extra-strength Lunesta. Also, I haven't seen any of the NT films lately, and watching them usually inspires me to write about NT. So this short chapter may not be very good, but please don't slaughter me! Please be kind! I'm out of practice!

* * *

Ben paid close attention to what their captor was saying behind the plastic curtains.

"Move, you." Ben heard the man say. There was a groan, like one of someone not wanting to wake up.

"I said, _move_!" There was a dull thud, and a yelp of pain. Ben knew whoever the blonde man was talking to had just been hit. He felt sorry for whoever it was, but was more concerned with finding how to get out of these damn handcuffs to go find Riley.

"I swear, kid, if you don't move right now, I won't hold back, no matter what the old man says." Hang on…'old man?' 'Kid?' Ben felt his heart surge in his chest, but tried his best to keep his hopes down. Anyone held hostage down here could be called 'kid' to demean them, and while Ben had a pretty good idea who the old man was, anyone running this crazy agenda could be called an old man. _Look at the mercenaries this man hired; they have to be in their early thirties, young forties at the most._ Ben reasoned. The mercenaries would probably call _**him**_ old man if he didn't get out of here.

Ben resumed playing close attention to the curtains.

There was the rustling of starchy cloth moving, the click of handcuffs locking, and the squeak of shoes on the floor. A muffled sound Ben recognized as someone trying to talk while gagged came loud and clear from behind the curtains. He felt angry, sure, but Riley was more important than whoever was down here. He didn't like categorizing people by what he felt their 

lives were worth, but in this case, he didn't care. Riley's return home was all that mattered. Ben wasn't going to let his friend out of his sight for months when he finally found the young geek.

The curtains were pushed aside, revealing…someone who looked very, very familiar.

"Riley!" Ben managed to say, his voice cracking. He could hardly believe his eyes. After two weeks of nonstop searching…Riley was alive! If he could have moved, Ben would have rushed over to Riley and pulled him into a tight hug. Unfortunately, he was stuck on the ground, with his hands and feet restricted. There was no way he could move…unless he crawled on his belly. Ben considered the idea, briefly, and then had to dismiss it. The floor was littered with metal and God-knew-what, so, unless he had a wish to be disemboweled or stabbed in the gut, he was better off where he was. Unfortunately, that meant he was about seven feet away from Riley. Not a happy position.

Riley was staring at him like he'd never seen Ben in his life, his blue eyes wide and confused. Did Riley think Ben was just going to abandon him? It wasn't that hard to believe, if Ben's actions during the quest for Cibola were anything to go by; the treasure hunter had practically ignored the young man. Only now could Ben see how badly it had affected Riley. The blue-eyed man was looking at him with such a shocked expression it physically hurt Ben to look at him.

Riley was wearing sweatpants so stained with grease and oil, among other things, Ben couldn't tell what color they originally were. He had on a plain black shirt that hung off him awkwardly because it was around three sizes too big. Ben was glad to see Riley was wearing his old Converses, though they looked worse for wear, stained and filthy; at least Riley had one element of his normal self with him.

Riley had always been thin, so that hadn't changed much, though Ben was sure he could see the techie's ribs; he bit back a growl, feeling his temper rise with the idea of Riley being ill-treated. His hair was down to his shoulders, which made Riley look slightly feminine. Black smudges marred Riley's skin, which was paler than usual; Ben knew it meant Riley hadn't seen the sun in a while. This infuriated him. If he could have moved, he would have beat the crap out of the blonde man restraining Riley. Riley was tightly gagged with what looked to be a bandana; the sight of the dark cloth cutting into Riley's skin made Ben want to rip it off at once. Between the handcuffs and the muscle-bound blonde holding his shoulders, Riley couldn't move if he wanted to.

"Oh, you know this guy, huh?" The blonde said, shaking Riley a little, grinning maliciously. Riley shook his head so fast it made Ben dizzy. What was going on? Why was Riley doing this? Ben tried to come up with a good reason, but his mind was clouded with the shock of seeing Riley _alive, breathing, capable of coming home_.

A door was swung open behind them, clanging loudly as it hid the wall. Riley's attention zeroed in on the two figures coming through the doorway. Ben felt like someone had started pricking his heart each time it beat within his ribcage. Every second Riley was here was another second he wasn't at home with Ben, where he belonged.

"Oh, so I see those nosy trespassers were a little bit too nosey, hm?" Ben felt a chill go down his spine. _Oh, great, just what I need. Mr. Whitson._

* * *

OK, so you know how I told you it was going to be short? I'm really sorry everyone, but I think I need to watch the NT films before I write anymore, to get me in the mood to write about the characters. And I appologize indefinetly for letting everyone think I had either forgotten about this fic or had recently died. Again, I am really, really sorry.


	10. Chapter 10: The End of A Nightmare

"Sir, I found them trying to get inside. What do I do with them?" The blonde man, who was still holding Riley asked. Whitson Sr. waved his hand like it didn't matter. Ben bit his tongue to keep himself from screaming in frustration. How could _anyone_ think other people's lives didn't matter, especially when those lives were his own, Abigail's, and Riley's, _especially_ Riley's life?

"Leave them where they are, Mitch. They won't do anything. Not when we have their little friend with us. He's our ultimate bargaining chip." Whitson croaked happily, clasping Riley's arm in his arthritic claws. Ben saw Riley's half-concealed flinch, and fury once again tore at his insides. _How dare that geezer lay a hand on __**my**__ Riley?! _Ben thought, too angry to wonder exactly when Riley had become _his_.

And then, something happened, something…completely unexpected. This event would not have been considered dramatic by movie standards, but it was one of those situations when, when it happens to you in real life, it is actually quite dramatic and terrifying to all those involved.

Most of the entire Houston police force burst into the hangar, every member wearing a bulletproof vest and waving an automatic fixed with a telescope, all the while shouting unintelligibly. Probably for everyone to get down on the ground, or something, which was no problem for Ben and Abigail, considering they were already on the ground.

Ben had never been gladder to see the police in all his life. Of course, this was the first time he had been caught by the police and hadn't done anything illegal. But he was still grateful Abigail had called Sadusky when he had done his first search of the house. If not for the FBI's authority among the police, probably the only reason the police hadn't taken their sweet time getting to the scene, Ben shuddered to think what could have happened.

--

While he was ecstatic to know that Riley was safe and alive, Ben was also overjoyed that their endless interviews with the Houston police were finally over. The first week or so after finding Riley had been agony, because the police had questioned them all, interviewing everyone at least four times to get the full story. Ben had barely been able to stop himself from going into the interviewing room and simply _shooting_ Whitson Jr. (technically it had been Abigail who had stopped him).

The reason Ben was so furious his teeth hurt from clenching them together so hard and so long: Robin Whitson Jr. Whitson Jr. had admitted to beating Riley up more than a few times, and, when asked, said he had kicked Riley on several occasions, just for ha-has. This infuriated Ben more than anything else, even more so than the way the man smiled, the bastard actually _smiled_, when he told the police this.

Apparently, Whitson Sr. had nothing going for him apart from his son, the apple of his eye, so when he saw that said son was an utter loser, Whitson had come up with the crazy idea of holding America hostage until the current President stepped down and let Whitson Jr. take the position as dictator for life of America. Funny how most villains want global domination, hm?

"How did he think he was going to succeed?" Abigail had asked an officer near the end of yet another interview with the police. She and Ben had undergone so many interviews and questioning sessions she was beginning to wonder if she was ever going to go back to her job at the National Archives. The officer, a Mr. Parker, glanced at his superior for clearance. The other man, Mr. Nash, nodded.

"According to Agent Sadusky, they are authorized for the information." The man had said in a disinterested tone. Parker turned back to Abigail and Ben.

"Well, Mr. Whitson planned to make Mr. Poole to construct atomic bombs, which he would use to threaten the country. It was lucky we came when we did, otherwise those bombs would already be under construction. He also wanted Mr. Poole to construct security and computer-controlled weapons systems that would protect Mr. Whitson Jr. when he was in the White House." Ben knew he wouldn't be able to take much more revealing of Riley's life. If he wanted to know what Riley's life before meeting Ben was like, he would rather get his information directly from his friend, no matter how painful it was to ask.

"I've heard enough," Ben had said, despite his desire to know more, much more. He had heard the interviews with both the Whitsons and their Mafia-wannabe friend, 'Mercenary Mitch' as Ben privately liked to think of the man that was an old Marine friend of Whitson Sr., and felt if he heard one more word out of any of the men's mouths, he would go ballistic.

Thankfully, Sadusky had pulled a few strings and let them escape back to DC without too much interference from the press (Ben had requested that the whole thing be kept under wraps, for Riley's sake; he was sure that the young techie would not want reporters in his face every time he set foot outside).

Almost as soon as he had returned to DC, Riley sold his old flat and bought a new one four blocks away from it, saying he couldn't stand to be in it any longer. Ben supported his friend's decision whole-heartedly; indeed, had Riley not raised the subject of moving first, Ben had planned to pose the idea himself. Ben knew that if Riley was ever going to recover from his ordeal, he would have to relocate, his old apartment holding too many bad memories. Yet in spite of his good intentions, a small, traitorous voice whispered there was another reason he was so happy with Riley's move. Ben always pushed the voice to the back of his mind, but it had grown stronger since Riley's kidnapping.

So now life was continuing on as normal. Abigail was still in the historic mansion and Ben was still in his apartment; while he sometimes mourned the lack of historical significance concerning his small apartment, he wouldn't have traded places with Abbey for anything, because that would mean he wouldn't have Riley nearby. And Ben wanted Riley with him, within sight, within reaching distance, at all times.

* * *

And there you have it folks! The end of _To Catch A Thief_! (I'm sorry it's a bit short, but I was eager to move on to the sequel.)

Thank you to everyone who has reviewed, and even to you who didn't review, thank you for taking the time to read. I know it's a bit of an abrupt ending, but I'm happy enough with it, even though I'm not sure about the order of paragraphs. I've edited this thing so many times I swear it's almost memorized.

Don't worry, it's not the end of the story, really. This is just the first part of it. I've already started the sequel, but I'm stuck on titles. I also can't decide if I want to start with the end of the story, or work it out from the beginning. Probably the latter option. If you're disappointed by the lack of romance in _To Catch A Thief_, it's coming in the sequel.

If the formatting, spelling, or grammar are wrong, let me know and I'll fix it. I've gone back over all the other chapters of this fic and edited them slightly, answering questions posed in reviews and clarifying several areas of confusion. If I've skipped over any questions you asked, tell me and I'll do my best to answer them.

Please review and give me sequel title and plot ideas! I accept all suggestions with open arms. Even if I don't use your exact suggestion, I'll consider it and probably incorporate it in the story somewhere.

Again, I am very grateful you took an interest in this little fic of mine and helped me through it. I'll be updating soon, so you haven't seen the last of me!


End file.
